Leah Mordecai eBook

“What have I to fear now, when I have gone so
far? I abide now by your wishes in all matters,
henceforth and forever. I am ready.”

In a moment the bishop was summoned. By the light
of a dimly burning lantern, he drew forth the Prayer
Book, and read the impressive marriage ceremony of
his church. The responses were solemnly uttered,
the benediction invoked, and at that midnight hour,
in the stillness of the porter’s lodge, Emile
Le Grande and the young Jewess were pronounced “man
and wife.” Driving quickly to the vessel
that was ready to depart for the tropical port with
the first appearance of the morning sun, Emile soon
safely ensconced his bride in the comfortable cabin,
and with a feeling of joy, tinged only with a shadowy
apprehension, he bade adieu to the kind bishop, who
had accompanied them thither.

As the morning sun rose, bright and ruddy, from its
eastern bed, the vessel’s gun, giving the signal
for departing, sounded beyond the foaming bar, and
the newly wedded lovers were adrift, alike upon the
ocean of life and upon the blue expanse that surrounded
them-adrift to suffer a dismal shipwreck, or to anchor
safely within some remote harbor of love and security.

CHAPTER XXIV.

Anxious and nervous from the expected sorrow of the
coming day, Mr. Mordecai rose early from his couch
of restless slumber. Restlessly he walked the
library floor backward and forward, awaiting the appearance
of his daughter Leah. At length he said to his
wife, as she summoned him to the morning meal, “It’s
very late. I wonder why Leah does not come down.
I’ll just step to her room, and see if she is
ready; fatigue and anxiety may have caused her to sleep
later than usual this morning. I’ll join
you in the breakfast-room in a moment.”

After a moment had elapsed, Mr. Mordecai stood gently
tapping at his daughter’s chamber door.
There was no response. He gently opened it.
The room was vacant. Not a sound or a voice greeted
his entrance. Stiff and well-arranged, the elegant
furniture stood mutely against the cold, cheerless
walls. The ominous tidiness of the deserted bed-chamber
bespoke a fearful story. The father stood for
a moment in amazement, silently surveying the apartment,
his heart half trembling with a vague fear; then he
said, in a hoarse, frightened tone, “Leah, my
daughter, where are you?” There came no reply,
but the faint echo of his whispered words, “Where
are you?”

Stepping forward softly into the room, he paused again,
and then with slow, uncertain step approached the
casement that looked out upon the front garden.
There was nothing without but the sunshine and the
breeze, and the passing crowd already beginning to
throng the streets. Again he turned, with anxious
heart, away from the crowd without, to the deserted
room within. “Where’s my daughter?
Leah, dear Leah, where are you?” A folded scrap
of paper upon the escritoire caught his eye, and springing
forward he seized it, half hopefully, half fearfully,
and tremblingly unfolded it. These are the words
it contained: